Aftermath
by aynon
Summary: Just a drabble. Kind of Karkat/John?
1. oo1

How long is it?

How long are you unaware of everything that happens? You do not know, but it must surely be a long time, for when you finally do realize what is going on, it is too late. This, you are used to. You always were too late to do anything. And now, where you stand, quite silent, quite alone, again, you have stayed unaware far too long. If your life could be saved, the moment in which such a thing could be possible has long passed. You might be okay with this. You might be, if you could redo things.

But you can't change the past.

* * *

><p>The day is bright, as expected. When you wake up and head downstairs, John is there. He is smiling, like he always is, and you offer a smile in return. You know he loves seeing you smile; and for him, you will. You sit at the kitchen table, and there are muffins for breakfast, something not terribly uncommon. John says his father had made them, of course he did, he won't stop with the baking, and he rambles, and you tell him to shut up but you don't really mean it because you love his voice. It's the one thing you can't hate. You could never hate anything about John. In fact, you love his voice. You love it when he hugs you, you love the smell of him, you love how his kisses are always so sweet. You love it all. Not for a moment do you think, this is all too good to be true. You deserve such a quiet, peaceful life, don't you? Indeed, you do. And this is something you can stand.<p>

* * *

><p>The day is dark, the sun, hidden. That's okay. You can stay in and watch movies, bad or otherwise, with John. It is raining softly, and you take a moment to stop and appreciate the soft sound before heading down to breakfast. You eat. John suggests going outside, and you predictably shoot that one down, telling him the weather is far too bad for such things. He offers the idea of movies. This, you like, and this, you take.<p>

You get the works; popcorn and soda, crappy snacks that you can't eat too much of. You watch some of his crappy movies, and you actually like them. They're entertaining, yes.

* * *

><p>Today was fun. Today was a day you don't appreciate as much as you should. And tomorrow, it all falls to pieces.<p>

When you wake, it is unlike the usual. Your head is throbbing, and it throbs all the more upon seeing that the weather hasn't improved. You shrug this off; this happens, you often have these headaches you can't shake, but that's okay, you can always lie in bed with John and sleep it off. It's okay. Nothing is wrong today, nothing is off today.

You wish, at least. Because in the back of your mind, you know something is wrong when John doesn't answer your calls.

You head downstairs, and the heavy smell in the house should trigger a warning for you, but it does not. The kitchen is empty, dark, dusty. This doesn't make sense. It was not like this yesterday, and somehow, you doubt it could have collected this much dust in one night. Nothing is right, you realize.

Everything is wrong, everything is messed up, out of order. Things shouldn't be this way... so why are they like this...?

You don't know why, and it bothers you...


	2. oo2

Those peaceful, fun days, they were all fake. Now you know, now you've realized it, and you don't know what has triggered this, but now that you know, you can't imagine anymore.

You walk upstairs, into your room, and eye the shelf. Memories, memories that aren't fake return to you, and you realize that, when you were supposedly watching a movie with "John", you weren't. The shelf where movies lay, is dusty, and the one you thought John had taken is among them, covered in a thick film of dust. Now you realize, you were alone in that moment, now you realize, you were only staring at a blank TV. There was no movie. There was no John.

John was never there.

John never loved you.

It's then, that the memories hit you, one after the other. John is dead. Everyone is dead. You've been playing a fake, meaningless game, and you hadn't even realized it. You don't understand it, you don't understand why. Then you get it, and it takes you only a second more. Sburb. You'd been taken here, and in a haze, you had found his house, and that was when this fake life had started. All along, you'd been alone. All along, it had been fake. Fun days you thought you were spending with John were empty, because you had simply been talking to yourself.

Now that you know, you can't take it back.

And it hurts, far more than you thought it would. It burns. It makes the silent tears sliding down your face sting all the worse, and you don't mind them, not really, because no one is here to see you sob. But that also means that no one is here to hold you, no one is here to whisper comforts into your ear, no one is here to tell you things will be okay, and you can't tell yourself that, because things _won't_ be okay. All along, you've been alone. John doesn't love you. John never loved you. John barely even _knew_ you.

John didn't love you, and he doesn't have a chance to, now. He is dead. And all of your friends are, too. Everyone you ever cared about is gone. Everyone... is _dead_.

And now, as you lay down on the cold, dusty bed that was John's, you are too.

There's one comfort for you, as you are now. And that is the smell that you know belongs to John. You never washed these sheets. You never washed away John's scent. You couldn't have, for all you know is John, John, _John. _

Dimly, you think you feel someone hugging you from behind. That sweet smell returns, and you let yourself fade completely. How long you had been dying, you don't know. But now, you are gone as well, and perhaps you can finally meet with John. This, you can take comfort in. You do have one regret, though.

You wish you'd told him.


End file.
